Deadly
by Reasons For Laughing
Summary: Happy Bloody Chirstmas, indeed. HarryDraco slash, TomLuci, Fred and George...you decide. Christmas fic moved along by the 7 deadly sins, M to be safe please R


**Okay, happy Christamas. **

**Warnings: tiny sex references, little language, alcohol usage, etc, based off the Seven Deadly Sins, kay? AND VERY IMPORTANT: Ol' Volde is in touch with his, um, inner child and efeminate (sp?) side...heheh**

**Pairings: SLASH! Harry/Draco, Voldemort(cough)/Lucius (.), and Fred and Geoge being twins unless you want to interpret it as more**

**Disclaimer: JK owns all...i just gotta laptop and an overactive imagination**

**Dedicated to: Jess and Josh foremost...oh and Molly. Aine for being amazing, Chase for being too sweet, Sam because you are THE most amazing person in the entire world, Maddi for supporting me even though she hates slash, Rachel for the same, and N-chan for making my day, every day. Cheers! I love you all and Happy Christmas**

**Gluttony **

The table was covered in foods, exotic by nature and heavenly by taste. He sat at the head and drank large quantities of wine without feeling the slightest bit tipsy. He ate until his servants thought he could eat no more, but then he called for another dish. He claimed after years of not having a physical body, it was his right to be a glutton on Christmas.

His long darks robes folded on themselves, being much too large for him, and he gently batting long bangs out of his eyes. He had shaved his head in the past, but now kept it, for someone had once told him it helped to humanize him. That someone meant more to him than his reputation, though he would never admit it.

"Nott!" He cried harshly, his voice, now used regularly, had regained its strength and lost the high nasal pitch he had acquired with the creation of this body. The man he called came running over, before bowing low before his master.

"My lord?" he asked softly, breath coming harder than usual from his sprint.

"Where is Malfoy? Bring him here, I would much like to speak with him." His voice grew soft and dangerous, and his slithered his S's like snake.

Nott bowed low again and ran off, without so much as a murmur. He appeared a few minutes later more composed, leading in a strikingly handsome man, whose deep silvery-blue eyes and platinum blond hair hid his age, though wrinkles had begun to set, relieving the effect slightly. Malfoy bowed low and majestically, and then stood tall and slim and regal as any king.

"Leave us!" he cried and stood, towering over Malfoy. All other occupants of the room scattered, tripping over their heels to leave before they angered their master. Once the door had slammed for the final time, he raised up his hand and wrapped his fingers in a lock of the other's hair. "Hello Lucius," he hissed gently.

"Hello Tom," he murmured in return. And reached up, gently brushing the other's pale, cold cheek.

"I may have missed you, but that doesn't give you a right to call me that," he turned away anger radiating off him in blankets.

"I'm sorry, my lord," Lucius bowed again, and when he stood he kept his head down as if in shame.

"Lucius, why are you here?"

"You sent for me, my lord. I look only to please." Lucius kept his head down, but his eyes shone bright, for he knew what he was doing; he had done it before.

"That is not what I meant and you know it, Lucius. You are married, or so I've heard from Avery, and you have a son who was warming up to Harry Potter." He turned back to Lucius, his cold red eyes burning Lucius. "And yet you come to me, as if there have not been years in which we haven't spoken, let alone partake in our relations, and you look at me as though you are daring me to do something."

"I'm married, Tom." Lucius raised his head again, dropping his feigned innocence. "I have a child and I'm married, and no matter how much I want . . .other things, I can't have them. I accept that, as should you."

"No!" he hissed. "No, no, no! I am your master and you must, as always, obey _me_! What _I_ want is all that matters." He grabbed Lucius and shook him, anger bubbling dangerously below the surface.

"Goodbye, Tom." And then Lucius walked out.

--

The group was huddled closely together, seated on three legged stools, all still clad in their jackets and scarves. Their eyes were glued to the form of a pale, thin and muscular twenty-year-old who paced before them, face set in a mask of pure solemnity and disdain.

"Do you all know why you're here, because if you don't, you shouldn't stay." His voice was low, and sweet and it resonated and rang through out the silent room. No on even twitched. "You all know who I am, and you can call me sir, or something, unless you are on good terms with me, which most of you aren't.

"We aren't interested in whether or not you want to save your country, be a martyr, be a hero, be a god. You are here to fight, and that's it. Look, I dun usually do this shit; I'm supposed to be planning for next week's raid, but never mind, sod that," laughter twinkled behind his vibrant green eyes, but he spoke no amusement, and instead glared at each of the gathered men and women, before stopping at the final man seated, whose face was hidden by a hood. "Okay, questions?"

One of the men in the circle stood, his robes tumbling down as he rose to his feet. "Sir, do we have a name? Or uniforms, like the Death Eaters?" his voice was rough and stony and he towered over his leader.

"Those of you who will be selected for our special unit, you will be the Order Of The Phoenix. We do not have an official name or uniforms, because we, unlike the Death Eaters, do _not_ want our identities revealed." He sighed, thinking his reasoning was obvious. "Any more o' you lot got questions?" there was silence and he nodded contently.

"Good, then follow Ronald Weasley to your quarters, where he will explain anything I neglected to, and yeah, feel free to ask him anything. McMillan, Jameson and Kelly, you go with Hermione Granger for a different type of welcoming. Cheers. Hup to." He waved his arms emphatically, gesturing for the others to move. They left, shuffling off in single files to Weasley and Granger who stood by the doorframe. All save the hooded man who only stood after everyone else had filed off.

"Hello Harry," he greeted in soft silky tones, but the biting aftertaste of sarcasm leaked through. "This your job now? Greeting the newbies? I thought you were supposed to be the savior?"

"Ha ha ha. I would greet you, but that then the proper thing to do would be to ask you what your name is. But I know what you would say and who you appear to be, and your not, so can I just skip to the part where I say sod you and you leave?" He turned his back to the hooded man and opened a large bottle of Fire Whiskey. He took a large swig, then turned back to the man.

"Look," he sighed. "You sound like Draco Malfoy, you look like Draco Malfoy, I have no doubt," he paused and the hooded man let down his hood revealing platinum blond hair and silver eyes. "Exactly and you're dead. So now my only question is who the bloody hell are you and why the bloody hell are you here?" he took another swig of whiskey.

"I am dead, and yet I am here. You look horrid, when's the last time you've eaten?" Draco's voice became soft with worry.

"Fine then, you sod, I'll play along. I haven't eaten in a week. There, you happy?" Draco walked up to him and embraced him warmly. "You're dead, Draco."

"I'm here to tell you some things which are more important than the life you're living, baby. Quicksilver is back." Harry cringed at old nickname he once called his lover. "Not eating is just as bad as eating too much."

"You're dead," he said, and started to chug the whiskey.

--

He pulled his long red hair back into a tight ponytail and threw on a long trench coat and gloves. He turned to a mirror on the wall, and looked at himself. The skin under his eyes was purple and puffy and he raised a hand to cover his eyes and stop his head from aching. Turning hurriedly he walked towards the door.

"Fred, where are you off to in such a hurry?" he turned to find his twin standing in the doorway, clad only in a robe, smiling tiredly from behind a large mug of coffee.

"Hello George," he greeted, returning to his twin's side and kissing his forehead gently. His twin's hair was messy and stringy from sleep and the shower he had yet to take.

"You didn't answer my question," George murmured, placing his hand on his twin's shoulder.

"Bugger," muttered Fred. "I had hoped you'd forget." He stepped back a few steps and sat backwards in a chair by the kitchen table.

"I'll have you know that I am no goldfish, and that I can remember something from one moment to the next. So are you gonna tell me what's wrong or are we just gonna sit here for a year and stare at the floor." Fred looked up from the floor indignantly.

"I was headed towards St. Mungo's." Fred sighed. George looked up in surprise, before quickly closing the gap between them, squatting down beside his brother.

"Is this about the those headaches that you said that they said were nothing and told me not to worry about?"

Fred sighed and turned away. "Yeah, about that. I kind of lied about what they said a little bit. Kind of." his voice was no more than a whisper but it seemed to echo loudly in the silent room. He let his hair hang in his face so George wouldn't see the tears in his eyes.

George reached up and grabbed his twin's hands. "You gonna tell me or are we gonna go that staring thing I talked about?" Fred suddenly fell off of his chair onto his twin's lap and sobbed into his shoulder.

"I'm so scared George." He whispered almost inaudibly, and George rubbed his back in gently, soothing circles. "It's a tumor, George! It's a bloody tumor!"

George was stunned, then he felt suddenly stupid. "Can't they take those things out?"

Fred's eyes met his twin's and both we full of tears. "The healers said if they tried, I would lose my memory, or die, or become a vegetable, or something—I dunno!" he stood and hung his head, ashamed of his outburst.

George hurried to my feet as well. "You, you need to eat more, you haven't been eating at all and we'll go back to Mungo's and see if we can get a different answer—"

"I'm dying, George."

"And we'll find a way to get you better, and you will be and we can live next door to each other like we planned, and switch wives sometimes—"

"We're both gay." Fred sighed. "I'm dying." George's hysterics stopped. "I'm going to join the Order."

"You'll die!" George cried, slamming his twin into the wall.

"Better than die in bed," Fred retorted, and he embraced his twin tightly, and both fell to the floor, holding desperately onto each other so their tears mixed, because neither knew when the they would get to hold each other again.

**Lust**

The first time Tom laid eyes on Lucius Malfoy when he was twenty-one. For the first time in his life of non-emotions, he felt his stomach clench and his heart beat faster than he thought was healthy. He wanted this man more than he had ever wanted anything before.

He watched as silver-blue eyes wandered lost, then met with his own startling crimson ones. They locked onto his and he saw Lucius smile. He gasped as the other man waded carefully and somehow majestically through the throng of people to where he stood.

"Happy Christmas," he greeted in his deep chocolate tones, grinning and twirling a strand of his silver-blond hair in his fingers. "Name's Lucius Malfoy."

"Tom Riddle," he replied. They shook hands.

"What, no 'happy Christmas'?" Malfoy asked.

"Hate the holiday. I'm gonna have it banned when I rule the Wizarding World." Tom grinned at Lucius.

"Big ambitions," he said with an unwavering smile. "Mind if I join?"

"I'd love it." they shared a smile again, and both knew that they would have a very interesting and busy night ahead of them.

After that night and few more of the like, both became insistent that Lucius Malfoy would join the ranks following Voldemort, but the Malfoy matriarch and patriarch were firmly against it. Every time Tom came to talk to his lover's parents about the Death Eaters, they found some way to keep Lucius away. The first time they locked him in their basement, the second they used an immobilizing spell, and the third they relied on a sleeping draught. By the time the fourth visit rolled around both Lucius and Tom were annoyed enough they decided to take matter into their own hands. That was Lucius's first kill.

From then on Lucius and Tom were practically attached by the hip. Tom's ranks grew and grew and everyone knew who Lord Voldemort was. He marked his men with an insignia designed by him and Malfoy one night, but he never marked Lucius. And though he never knew it, the fact that he didn't mark Lucius marked him in more ways then he could count. And from the day the met on, though he wouldn't admit it to himself let alone anyone else, he had fallen in love.

"Lucius." He turned when Tom called him. "Lucius, don't go. I want you, here and not. I . . .I need you." And Lucius returned to him, wondering all the while, why Tom could never say he loved him.

--

Harry Potter had, after a very strenuous and extraordinarily embarrassing game of truth or dare, come to the conclusion that truth or dare had to have been originally created by Muggles to serve the sole purpose of torturing others. It had forced him to not only admit to his House but to the Slytherins as well, that he was gay. It had also forced him to come to terms with something that he hadn't been ready to accept.

"Draco," he moaned softly, as the blond boy left trails of kisses down his torso, and around certain sensitive areas. He laced his fingers in the others blond hair and gasped. He thought he could hear snickers coming from the Slytherins in the other room.

"Harry," Draco whispered. "Don't talk. Be silent, and let me—" he trailed off and kissed Harry full on the lips.

"Why are we—?"

"It was a dare," Draco gasped as Harry pulled off more of his clothes.

"Oh," Harry sighed and suddenly lost his vigor. He sighed again and threw himself onto the bed with all the energy of a dead man. "All right, then."

"What?" Draco stalked over to Harry and pushed him over. "You were having the time of your life, and now you're nice and placid, which is nice every _other_ day of the year, but when one is attempting to have sex, this is the exact _opposite_ reaction one is looking for."

"I just thought, ya know. Never mind." Harry sighed.

"What did you think? Harry, do you hafta sigh every three minutes on the dot? Jesus. I thought we were gonna shag." Draco sighed, and sat next to Harry on the bed.

"I guess I was thinking maybe it was, ya know, more than the dare," Harry turned to Draco, sitting up to look into his deep silver eyes. "I was hoping you wanted me."

"I'm kinda scared, Harry. I'm a virgin," tears were forming in Draco eyes.

"Me too," Harry laughed.

Draco turned and planted his lips firmly against Harry's and pushed the Boy Who Lived onto his back and caressed his side. He began to pick up where he had left off before.

"I need to know you mean it," Harry managed through gasps.

"I do, I do, I do!" Harry grabbed Draco again and their lips met.

Harry Potter had somewhere along his career at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry fallen in love with Draco Malfoy. This was a fact he repeatedly denied himself and all others until that fateful Christmas Eve that the Slytherins and Griffindors accidentally locked themselves in a dungeon. The result was a seven hour game of truth or dare.

After that night, however, Draco and Harry couldn't keep their hands off each other, so it no longer mattered if Harry would admit it or not. It was plainly obvious that they were a couple to anyone who had eyes and the ability to use them.

Harry sometimes wondered why he couldn't keep his hands off of the man.

Harry Potter didn't expect to see someone Apparate into room on his seventeenth birthday, but low and behold, he was awake with a sudden _POP_. And there was Draco, standing with a seductive grin and tight leather pants.

"What the buggerin' hell are you doin' in my room?" Harry asked, groggily, sitting up and yawning.

"It's your birthday, Wonder Boy, and I figured you'd need a little help celebrating. Now that you can do magic without the Ministry getting all up your arse. You're an adult now, and we got some Fire Whisky to drink, and some hexes to cast, and some really, really hot sex to have." Draco smirked. And shook his leather-clad hips side-to-side.

"This is my sexy birthday gift?" Harry asked, slightly less groggy. "A mouthful of Fire Whisky, and some hexes?"

"And sex," Draco crawled over onto Harry and straddled his hips, leaning down to kiss the birthday boy. "Don't forget about the sex."

--

Fred and George Weasley had never been apart for more than a month at a time and any more than a week left them depressed and lonely. They realized how much stress it put on others to make sure they were always together, but they really couldn't manage without the other. 

Fred Weasley was assigned to the Griffindor House and George Weasley was not. George Weasley was the first Weasley in all of Hogwarts time, to be assigned a Ravenclaw. Immediately after getting the sorted the two had a fit. No amount of soothing from their elder Housemates could keep them quiet.

That night their Headmaster came and talked to them. They hadn't been together for over four hours and upon seeing the other, they promptly embraced each other and refused to let go. Albus Dumbledore saw the way they looked at each other and planned to make the announcement that George Weasley was to become a Griffindor. Before he had a chance, however, George and Fred got to the talking first.

"I'm sorry, Fred!" George cried, wrapping Fred closer to himself. "I should have been thinking about being a Griffindor and instead I screwed up and got myself into Ravenclaw!"

"No, George, I'm sorry!" Fred cried as well.

"I won't leave your side again, I promise!" George kissed Fred's cheek. "You're my favourite brother, and my twin and I'm sorry!"

"Don't worry, we'll get through it, I promise. We'll gonna grow up and have houses right next door to each other," Fred paused, looking into George's mirroring eyes.

"And we cane hang out, and—and switch wives," they both giggled.

"And they'll have white picket fences. And big black dogs," Fred murmured into George's ears. They held each other close again.

The next morning George was moved into Griffindor. The silence and screams that were heard around the Great Hall were nothing compared to the sounds of joy that escaped the twins' lips.

"George, we did it, we're together!" Fred's arms surrounded George the moment he was within the reach of Griffindor table and George's arms were wrapped just as tightly around Fred.

"I love you, Fred, I'm so sorry!" George Weasley was the first and last Weasley to be placed in a house other than that of Griffindor. It was in the Weasley blood, having married into Griffindor's line many times. But none were so happy to be sorted into Griffindor as George Weasley.

George Weasley was also the very first student in all the years of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry that was resorted after the fact. He was also the last student that it would happen to.

And yet George could help but wonder all the while, why he had been sorted into Ravenclaw. Perhaps it was his destiny to be parted from Fred until he could handle being away from him. But then, if it was, he though, perhaps he had ruined his future and destiny in one moment, by choosing to give in to his needs. He realized then that he truly needed Fred, and without him he couldn't function, because they were twins, identical twins.George knew then that because karma or just plain luck, that someday something bad would happen to Fred, separating them forever.

**Wrath**

At first, Lucius Malfoy didn't believe him. It seemed impossible—no, it _was_ impossible. But there it was, spilling from McNair's lips and pasted on the front of the Daily Prophet and posted on every wall. It was inconceivable. Lord Voldemort was dead. Tom Riddle was dead. Lucius Malfoy was all alone.

He stood astounded in the hallway of the Ministry's second floor, like many, with his mouth and wide open to the point he almost looked human. The papers in his hands crashed to the floor with a dull thud and he fell to the floor laughing in disbelief, and because others were laughing as well, they didn't notice the tears that poured from his eyes onto the uncaring paperwork inches away.

In the days to come, Malfoy neglected to go to work most days, but no one else was there either, so it hardly mattered. There were parties with liquor and fireworks and shows. Malfoy kept locked up in his apartment and drank himself stupid. Other former Death Eaters came to discuss cover stories with him, but he ignored them. He and Tom had already made a cover story.

Because Lucius had never gotten a mark, he could merely claim he was under the Imperius curse, and no one would be the wiser. After all, who would think that someone would have willingly followed Voldemort to the end of the earth?

Lucius Malfoy was saddened, of course, but he also harbored a deep hatred for Tom, for leaving him. He had killed his parents for the man, and then he went and died. Just like that. Lucius hated him for it. So, one night, after far too much to drink, Lucius decided to confront Voldemort as to the cause of his anger.

"Listen, Tom," his said in a slow, slurred speech, caused by his consumption of alcohol. "You bloody bastard! Ya left all alone with my bottle o' whiskey and myself. Why the hell did you leave?" he cried, throwing his bottle of whiskey at the wall, where it crashed and shattered. "Bugger, you're dead. You're not even 'ere. I'm not even talking to you. Bloody hell." He broke down crying on the floor.

After three weeks of attempting cope with the loss of what Lucius wouldn't admit was the love of his life, Lucius Malfoy decided to take time off his schedule of crying and drinking, by going to the book store and finding something worth paying attention to.

He searched for hours, checking and rechecking for anything that might be able to take his mind off of his dead lover and finally he came across the perfect thing. Dressed in red leather, smart looking, and very distracting; he found it in the non-fiction section. It's name he would learn, was Narcissa.

Narcissa came from a wealthy family like him, and knew how annoying parents from those families could be. She was smart, funny and beautiful. She almost made him forget Tom when she smiled.

That was the day he decided to start living again.

--

Harry's last day with Draco Malfoy was the worst of his life. Having been subjected to his fair share of torture in his lifetime, Harry knew exactly what hurt and how watching some else being hurt could hurt more than if it was you.

Being tied to chair with thick, painfully tight cords as he was, Harry knew he was not the one who was going to be in the most pain at the end of the day. From across the room, Draco stirred, and Harry watched intently as the blond sat up slowly and clearly in pain.

"Draco," he whispered hoarsely, his voice sore from screaming. "Draco, you okay?"

Draco nodded slowly, and tried to sit up, but muscle strain from various attempts at getting to Harry through him, caused him to the inability to move. "Yeah," he muttered, closing his eyes, trying to get them not to hurt as well.

He tried to act brave, but all the while, the only thought going through Draco's head was the word _Crucio_ and the deep burning, mind numbing and mind breaking pain that accompanied it. He had been tortured unto the point insanity, and the only reason he remained sane were the cries that echoed from Harry's lips, as though he felt the pain as well.

"Draco, I'm scared for you." Harry's vibrant green eyes were fixed on the panting Malfoy, with an expression that read of his intense desire to help the poor bleeding boy, if he wasn't tied to a chair.

"Don't be. I'm scared enough for the both of us," he retorted in a cruelly cold voice.

"I'm sorry, Draco. It's all my fault." _Damn straight_, Draco wanted to reply, though he didn't. "I love you."

That was when Voldemort and Lucius and Avery entered the room. Voldemort strode over to Harry and flung himself on his lap, dragging his fingers up Harry's forehead and listening to the boy cry out in intense pain.

"That it Potter?" he hissed, before turning on Draco. "_Crucio_!"

Fire raced up his spine. Every nerve, muscle, every tendon in his body burned with an insufferable flame. His blood turned to magma, his eyes rolled back and his voice gave way to screaming. He clamped his eyes shut tightly against the burning tears that threatened to fall from his eyes.

"No!" Harry cried, struggling his hardest to rid himself of the binds that kept him planted firmly on the chair.

Voldemort raised his wand and ended the spell. Draco turned to his side panting and retching, waiting for his skin to stop burning and for the feeling that his body was melting to pass. He knew this time that it was all for naught.

Voldemort turned to Lucius. "You, do the honors."

"My lord," cried Avery, stepping forward. "You never have us execute our own children. You said it makes us too much like Bartimus Crouch."

"That is my rule, it is true, but also beside the point. Lucius has disobeyed me and this is his punishment. Go. I need him dead to put my plan in progress."

Lucius stepped forward and looked at his son, square in eyes. "Goodbye, Draco. _Avada Kedavera_," he whispered and Draco fell to the side, never again to rise.

"No!" cried Harry, his voice lingering long after he stopped screaming. "Draco," he whimpered.

That was when Harry realized the depth of his hate for Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy.

--

Fred stared in disbelief at the paper in the Healer's hands. "What do you mean you can't get it out," he whimpered, his voice quieter and more shaky than he had hoped it would be.

The Healer was a man in his early twenties, still pure with youth and love. His hair was dark brown and his eyes were set to match. "Mr. Weasley, your tumor is cancerous and in a spot that is most likely impossible for us to reach. If we did attempt to remove it, the likelihood is that you wouldn't survive."

"Oh," he whispered, still in shock and disbelief. "So either way I'm dying."

"I," the Healer looked apologetically at him. "I am truly sorry." With that the Healer left and Fred was alone.

He felt tears well up in his eyes and he attempted to stop them, but they wouldn't stop rolling down his cheeks. He brought a hand up to his aching head and decided suddenly that he knew what he was doing. He would leave it be and pretend that it didn't exist and maybe, if he pretended long enough, it would disappear.

The ride home for him on the Knight Bus seemed to go slowly, a feat never accomplished by the bus, and Fred was nervous the entire time. When it finally stopped in front of his and George's apartment he felt even more nervous than he had before.

He stepped in, removing his trench coat and scarf and unlacing his boots before stepping into the kitchen and taking a pain killer potion for his aching head.

"Hey George," he called, walking slowly around the apartment, looking for his twin. He found him lying in bed, all ready asleep. He shook his head and sighed with a soft chuckle.

"Fred," the other muttered through half-sleeping lips. "You're back."

"I am," Fred countered with a smile.

"And?" George asked expectantly, sitting up and facing his twin in the inky darkness of his bedroom.

"And what?"

"The tests?" George tried again, exasperated with his younger twin.

"Oh, the Healer said it was," he paused, taking a deep breath, before putting on his best fake smile. "He said it was nothing. Nothing at all."

"Well that's good," George sighed, and was back asleep in moments.

Fred Weasley had never hated himself quite as much as he did that Christmas Day, when he lied to his twin, who was lying half asleep in bed and couldn't possibly know how badly Fred had lied to him. He sighed and walked back to the kitchen, where he realized he had left the note from the Healer, explaining exactly what was wrong.

He stared at it, unsure of what to do with it. If he kept it, George was sure to find it, but it he got rid of it, he would be swamped with an unreasonable feeling of guilt. He chose guilt and quickly ripped the note into mess of non coherent slips or parchment, which he threw into the fire. All the while he didn't notice his twin watching from the doorway.

**Greed**

He called Lucius Malfoy to him Christmas Day, just as he had the night before, and Lucius came, just as before. He was pacing in his bed room when the knock drew him from his thinking with a loud clatter. He was in obvious disarray. His hair hung in messy black clumps and his robes were creased from over wearing.

He at first didn't know what to make of the knock, before realizing he had called Malfoy to him. They had not spoken since, in a fit of jealousy, he had forced the Malfoy to execute his own son.

He slowly opened the door, marveling at the sight on the other side. A perfectly composed Malfoy, pale as ice, who made the perfect contrast with himself. He closed the door and locked it behind Lucius.

"Hello, Lucius," he greeted as usual.

"Hello, Tom," Lucius responded softly.

"Do you know why you're here?" He waited for Lucius to respond, but all he got was a slight shake of the head. "I'm a greedy man by nature. I want all beautiful things, you included. I do not take no for answer."

"But I have all ready answered you, Tom. I am married." Lucius turned to stare at the wall.

"Fine," he sighed, then muttered, "_tabula rasa_," under his breath thing all the while of the Malfoy's wife.

Malfoy spun around. "What just happened. I can't remember . . something . . . "

"Lucius," he called. The Malfoy found himself face to face with Tom. He remembered Tom. He loved Tom.

"Tom," he sighed pleasantly.

Tom giggled, but it was a slightly malicious giggle.. "Lucius can you remember what you were about to do? I think you had a black out there for a moment."

"Well, I'm all better now," Lucius grinned. "I believe I was just about to ravish you, but if I wasn't, well, feh. Who bloody cares?"

And Tom left the Malfoy ravish him, enjoying the feeling that radiated off of Lucius and feared what it would be when he discovered what he had done. But Tom was always s greedy man and he had always loved Malfoy, so it seemed like a good idea when Tom had thought about. He was so intoxicated by the Lucius, sometimes he felt he would die, and then sometimes Lucius would give him a look and Tom knew that Lucius was just as greedy as he was.

When Lucius woke up he was in a strange bed all alone, before realizing what had happened. He sighed and wished he could have redone the past night. In his redone version, playing no-stop in his head, he chose to sleep with Tom, instead of Tom having to charm him.

He suddenly wished he wasn't quite as greedy as he secretly knew he was.

--

Harry Potter wished that he thought Draco Malfoy really was real, because he knew that if he thought that, he would feel happy for the first time in a long while. He sighed and turned to the Malfoy-imposter.

"If you just tell me who you are, this could all be so simple," Harry sighed.

"I am Draco Malfoy. We got together on Christmas Eve when our Houses played truth or dare, and we're the only ones who know that so there." Draco stuck his tongue out at Harry.

"I want you to be Draco."

"I am."

Harry closed his eyes and he remembered clearly the scent of the spring flowers by the lake at Hogwarts and the feel of the grass and Draco. Harry thought he could probably drown in the memories.

"Why are you here, Draco, if you are real?" He asked with no extra vigor.

"I came to warn you about the prophecy and traitor. Wait, you have realized that the prophecy isn't about you, right?"

"Of course," Harry sighed.

"Then why do you still fight?" Draco, turned Harry towards him.

"Because everyone else expects me to," he replied, turning his head again, away from Draco. "You're in my head, aren't you? I just look like a nut case to everyone else, dun I?"

"I'm not in your head," Draco whispered seductively, and Harry almost believed him.

"Why the hell are you doing this," Harry cried suddenly, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"Doing what?" a look of complete bewilderment passed over Draco's fair face.

"Being here! Looking at me all seductively! I dunno if you're real or not, and I dun really care, but bloody hell, I just managed to get over you dying! Do _not_ make me fall in love again." Harry had never towered over Draco before, but for the first time the blond seemed to shrink in front of the Boy Who Lived.

"I'm sorry," Draco muttered, throwing up his hood and backing away. "I'm sorry, I just wanted to see you, and warn you, but I shouldn't have been so selfish." At a mere moments notice he turned angry and cynical. "Of course, I shouldn't be selfish, I only_ died_ for you!"

"There is no way to resurrect the dead, Draco," Harry cried in exasperation, and pulled the Malfoy back towards him. "I want you to be real, but you can't be!"

"I'm not resurrected," Draco said with anger lining his voice. "I'm only back for this one night to warn the people I care about. You and my father. But if you won't hear me because I'm not coming back to live with you—"

"Why can't you," Harry whispered so low that Draco wasn't sure he heard him right.

"I died, remember? The dead cannot live among the living, because that would confused the hell outta some people."

"What did you come to warn me about?" Harry sighed.

"There is a traitor in your midst," Draco said proudly.

And Harry listened to Draco's long account, failing back in love with him more, every second that he heard. He then knew why he couldn't believe that this Draco was the real one. He knew if he began to believe it, then he wouldn't understand why they couldn't be together. It is said that a man in love thinks only with his heart, and Harry Potter was a man in love

--

George Weasley held tightly onto his twin, who was latched onto him as well and deep asleep. Fred moaned something and George felt his heart clench. How would he function without his twin? He didn't believe it was possible.

He turned to side and looked Fred in the face, starring at his twin's identical face and memorizing every last bit of it. Though neither said it they knew that there was no chance that Fred would come home and that there was no way that George could tag along. Slowly, Fred began to wake, and immediately George felt guilty for waking his brother.

"'Ello George," he murmured softly, sleep still lining his voice.

"'Ello Fred," George replied, brushing his brother's hair out of his eyes. "How are you feeling?"

"My head hurts, but nothing new." Fred sat up, before deciding that lying down was more comfortable and collapsing back the way he had come. "Is it morning?"

"No," George replied, snuggling further down into the warmth that was their bed with a soft sigh. "This is our last night together, until . . . " his voice faltered and he tried to regain control of his intense emotions.

"Until I go away on a mission," Fred tried used the stability that George didn't have, in his own voice, but failed.

"Are you coming home?" George asked miserably.

"As soon as I can, George. The second I can."

"Why the bloody hell did you have to join? We could have handled it a different way! I know we could have gotten through this. I know it, Fred," he trailed off and without realizing it, he started sobbing.

"Don't cry!" Fred cried, embracing his twin tightly. "I'll come back I promise, and I never break my promises."

"You won't! You won't come back and you know it!" George pulled away looking deep into Fred's eyes. He saw what he all ready knew. Fred knew he wasn't coming home. He sobbed, looking away.

"I'm gonna go make us some coffee, 'kay?" Fred ruffled his twin's hair and quietly stepped out of bed.

"Fred, it's 2 am!" George screamed once his brother had left the room.

"So?" Fred yelled back.

"Never mind," George called, tears mixing with laughter.

A few minutes later Fred came in carrying two steaming cups of coffee, one which he handed to his brother, the other for himself. They sat in silence and they sat in laughter. They talked, and reminisced and made their last night together the best one they'd had. They were inseparable that night.

"I wish you could stay longer," George whispered to Fred's sleeping body, gently twirling his brother's hair. "I wish we had more time to get ready for you to be gone. I'm a greedy bastard, Fred. I dun want you to go. But I know you have to. So I'll you, okay? Dun feel guilty. I'm letting you. Fight well, Fred." He gently kissed his brother's forehead and walked out of the room and into the kitchen where he would find a large bottle of Fire Whiskey.

**Pride**

Tom was sure that he would win the war. There was no other way that the final battle could end, because if it ended any other way, Tom would never find a chance to win back Lucius's heart. He had gone over his plans many times, and the only logical ending would be a total massacre of Harry Potter's forces. After all, he was up against a boy and his friends. He had this war handed to him on a silver platter. Not to mention the fact that he had faith in the Death Eaters. He was, in his own twisted way, Proud of them.

Tom stood from the wicker chair in his bedroom, sighing. He had gone over the plan s more times than he could count. If there was a flaw he was sure he would have caught it by this point. He walked slowly over to mirror across the room and grabbed an ivory comb on the way. They had been gifts from Lucius back before he was resurrected, back when he was in the Malfoy's favor. Slowly, Tom began running the comb through the think, black tendrils of hair that curled down in front of his face.

His combing became frantic and hr tore at his hair cursing himself and his stubborn pride. He fell onto his bed, sobbing uncontrollably, something he had never admitted to having done before. Turning his head into his pillow to muffle his own cries, he pounded his fists into the bed frame until his knuckles were swollen and bloody.

Five hours later he joined his Death Easters in a feast, by that time completely composed, though his inner turmoil was raging. Lucius came over to talk with him that night and ten minutes later they were out of the hell known as Christmas and in Tom's study.

"The first battle of the new war begin tomorrow," Lucius started, the stopped and tucked his hair behind his ear nervously. He tried again. "In the past before battles we'd . . ." he stopped again, tugging at his hair again. "All right, look. The battle starts tomorrow . . . do you wanna have sex?" he blurted suddenly.

"That was awfully blunt," Tom retorted with a grunt-like laugh.

"You used to like shagging," Lucius tried again, his eyes pleading for Tom to just give in, though both knew it wouldn't be easy.

"I do like shagging," Tom countered.

"They why won't you—" Lucius cut himself off. "Oh," he sighed. "Your god damned pride."

"Yes," Tom grinned. "My god damned pride, Lucius, darling. Would you like to shag?"

"Bloody hell yes!" Lucius cried, flinging himself and the other.

"What about your wife?" Tom pushed Lucius away, killing the mood they had somehow created. "You were so concerned about her before. Why not anymore, Lucius?"

"Sod my wife," Lucius moaned as he dragged Tom towards the other's bedroom. "Sod my wife, and my kid and everything."

They locked the door after that and enjoyed being by themselves, because they somehow knew that this would be their very last time.

--

The silence was deafening, and they didn't know how to handle it at all. They stood silently, awkwardly, shuffling their feet and partake in nervous habits.

"My spirit . . . I did a spell and I have a corporeal body for like," he glanced at his watch. "Two more hours," Draco finally sighed, breaking the awkward silence. "So I can't stay long, because I still need to talk with my father."

"That's too bad," Harry whispered. "I was hoping we could shag."

"Ha, bloody, ha," Draco responded.

"I seem to remember that you weren't _that_ slow. I'm sure you could come before your body disappeared." Harry winked suggestively.

"I need to go soon, because I can't Apparate, you ponce."

"Why not?"

"My body only has so much magic, and if I were to Apparate it would be used up and then I'd die. Like that," he snapped his fingers as an example. Draco sighed and rubbed his head.

"So veto to the sex, then?" Harry raised an eyebrow, then turned serious. "Why did you come back?" he asked softly, turning away in an attempt to keep his voice from breaking.

"To warn you, like I said. I just," his voice broke. "I just wanted to see you again."

"Draco, why did you have you to die? I needed you here!" Harry gripped his shoulders and shook him. Draco cringed at the contact. "What's wrong?"

"I have some bruises. I had a run in when I first came here. That, and making myself look presentable are the only reasons I now have only two hours left."

"If you had shown up bruised and naked at my door I might have been more inclined to believe you were real." Harry responded with a sad chuckle.

"_Now_ you tell me," Draco sighed. "But you've all ready seen me bruised and naked and I believe once was enough. Look, I have to go, but, here." He leaned over and pressed his lips hard against Harry's.

They stayed like that for a long time, with their lips and hearts locked together. Harry let out a cry of distress when Draco removed his lips. Harry had longed for the feeling that accompanied those lips for so long and then to have them snatched away so fast he could hardly bare it.

"We're going to lose the war," he murmured, pressing his forehead against the Malfoy's.

"What do you mean? Don't you have any faith or pride in your fighters?" Draco nearly cried, barely containing himself.

"That's not the point. I have complete faith in my people, but most of them are common, few have had any kind of training. Bugger, we are so screwed."

"I hafta fly," Draco cried angrily, glancing at the clock.

"Can you come back again?" Harry asked gently.

"No. This was my last chance." Draco smiled a biter-sweet little smile. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

--

George Weasley was drunk. As a rule he never drank any more than a couple of beers or a few shots. Today, however, George neglected the rule and instead sat hunched over the stool at the bar, working on his twenty-something glass of Fire Whiskey.

Fred wouldn't be at the flat by the time that George got back. The battle was in less then five hours, and by this time he had no doubt that Fred was planning with the other members of the Order. So here was George, drinking away all his problems.

He wanted so badly to be there to say goodbye to Fred, but he knew if he stayed then he wouldn't be able to let him go. That was the way they worked, if they saw each other before they were to be separated, then they would never let go.

He sat up a little more and ordered another drink, taking a large gulp of it once it was placed by his hand. He needed the alcohol to let him get over Fred's absence. He started to laugh suddenly, imagining the hangover he would have the next day.

"Bartender," he slurred, from too much alcohol. He threw some coins at the counter, and tripped out of the tavern.

He managed to find his way home by some miracle and opened the door slowly. He was tempted to call out to Fred, but there was a nagging thought in the back of his mind, so he didn't. He walked into the kitchen and started a pot of what would be a very strong pot of coffee in an attempt to counter attack the hangover that he was sure was coming.

Grabbing a cup he poured the dark brown steaming liquid into it and collapsing on a couch with his coffee and a pillow and his tears. He found himself attempting to drink coffee and sob at the same time, and he realized after that doing so causes burns on ones chest. But he ignored the burning redness of his skin and just lay on the couch, grasping tightly to the remnants of his coffee.

"Fred," he called weakly, hoping somehow it would summon his missing his twin. He turned to the small table to his side and noticed a small leather bound book that he had seen Fred writing in earlier. He flipped it open.

_I can't help but think that George knows what I plan to do_, it read. _I know George always knows what I'm planning, but this is different. I think George knows that I won't be coming back no matter what. I plan to take some Death Eater arse with me, but I dunno. I can't help but feel so guilty for leaving George alone, but there is no other way. I'm too scared to do anything else. I'm sorry._

George jumped to his feet, running to change his clothes, then running to the door, grabbing a coat and scarf, and pulling on fingerless gloves as he ran out the door into the Christmas morning snow.

"Bugger!" he cried as cars zoomed past his street, denying him a way across. "God damn you Fred! God damn you!" He shouted loudly, but no one noticed him amid the bustle and joy of Christmas.

_I hope that George doesn't do anything rash. I love him so much; he's my favourite brother. I know if he knows then he'll come, racing across traffic and everything just to come to my aid. Please, please, please, don't let him come. _

_I've decided that war is an entirely useless and selfish and I wish I could tell George about my epiphany, but I have to leave. Goodbye, George._

**Sloth**

Lucius wandered around in Hogsmede hand in hand with Tom, more happy than he could say. They were window shopping for the most part, but Tom found it impossible not to buy Lucius everything he pointed out.

"I could buy you that for your birthday," Tom offered. Lucius smiled and giggled.

"Tom! My birthday isn't until July 29, it's only February!" Lucius pulled on Tom's arm, bring him away from the window. "Let's get something to eat; I'm craving a Butter Beer."

Tom grinned. "I thought only girls got cravings."

"Brat," Lucius slapped Tom's arm gently, and Tom chuckled. "Let's go! I am thirsty, and I want to go to a tavern and get a Butter Beer!"

"All right!" Cried Tom, letting Lucius drag him towards the nearest tavern.

Meanwhile in the Hog's Head Inn Headmaster Albus Dumbledore was interviewing for the open Divination post. He was currently listening to incorrect weather forecasts and the prediction of event that he knew would never happen.

Then, quite suddenly, Sibyll Trelawney's voice lowered in pitch and changed tone, causing Dumbledore to look up.

"_THE ONE WITH THR POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD APPROACHES . . . . BORN TO THOSE WHO HAVE THRICE DEFIED HIM, BORN AS THE SEVENTH MONTH DIES . . . .AND THE DARK LORD WILL MARK HIM AS HIS EQUAL, BUT HE WILL HAVE POWER THE DARK LORD KNOWS NOT . . . . AND EITHER MUST DIE AT THE HAND OF THE OTHER FOR NEITHER CAN LIVE WHILE THE OTHER SURVIVES . . . ._" She cleared her throat and looked wide-eyed at Dumbledore who remained speechless.

Lucius ran off. "I'm getting a Butter Beer! I'll be right back!" He ran off in the direction of the Hog's Head Inn.

"_THE ONE WITH THR POWER TO VANQUISH THE DARK LORD APPROACHES . ."_

Lucius fell to the ground laughing, before sighing and rising again to his feet. He smiled, then and walked through the door.

Lucius sat alone in his room, having finished with Tom earlier that evening. He knew what he was doing. He was waiting until the last moment to go through with it, so of course, he was surprised when there was a knock on the door and his dead son entered.

"Okay," said his dead son. "Before you go off on how I'm not real, I only have about ten minutes left so just believe me when I say I am real."

"All right, then. So you're real. So what?" Lucius's heart was beating two miles a minute, though he tried to remain calm.

"Do you know who the prophecy's about, right?" Draco asked, turning his head to look at his father from the side.

"Yes."

"Oh. Sorry, then, father. Guess I dun have much to tell you in that case." Draco muttered and put a hand on his father's arm, giving him a melancholy smile. Neither made any motion to move.

_I hate the name Tom Riddle. My bloody muggle father's name. It sounds like a horrid curse every time someone says it. Except for him. When he says it, it sounds like bells and pretty noises I used to hate. So I let him call me Tom, because it makes him happy and that makes me happy. I guess. _

--

Though he tried to keep his eyes away, he found himself staring almost constantly at the red head flirting with Hermione Granger. He tried to not get involved, because knew it would only hurt more if he was. He sighed, turning back to the battle plans he had already memorized.

He gripped his wand tightly with his right hand, clenching and unclenching his hand around it in the pocket of his robes. He tapped his foot agitatedly, and tried to stop his twitching, but he was too nervous, too involved, too young to know how to truly handle this.

He watched as Ronald Weasley leaned in a kissed Hermione Granger, like he had once kissed Draco Malfoy. He turned away. He could do it. He knew he couldn't do it. He couldn't see the look on their faces when he—no, he couldn't do it.

He reached for the bottle of Fire Whiskey again, and grabbed it, slowly he brought it to his lips, but he could barely hold it there, because his hands just couldn't shot shaking, bit matter how hard he tried. A small cry echoed from his lips, muffles by the bottle as he tried, desperately, to justify what he was about to do.

Then Ronald Weasley walked in. All the resolve that Harry had tried so hard to work up was shattered the moment he walked it. Harry could feel his jaw go slack, and he let out a strangled gasp.

"Hello, Weasley," he greeted, attempting to distance himself from his old best friend.

"Harry, is that how you greet friends?" Ronald Weasley grinned, turning his head to the side.

"No."

Ron looked shocked for a moment then laughed. "Very funny."

"I wasn't joking." Harry turned away, unable to look at Ron's unbelieving eyes. He reached into his robes, bragging at his wand again. Clenching and unclenching his fists around it. He slowly drew out his wand. "_Avada Kedavera._" Harry whispered, then he dropped his wand.

Ron fell to the floor limply, like a rag doll tossed by a little girl. Hermione ran in, shrieking like a banshee. Harry kneeled by the fallen body of his best friend and pulled back the large black sleeve of his robe and pointed to the mark that lay in his left arm.

"Death Eater," he said simply. Then stood and stepped away from his friend's sobbing wife. "Where are my men? We're movin' out, so get your arses in gear."

Harry walked into the hall to wake the rest of his force and stopped, half way through, and barely resisted the urge to break down and cry.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, softly. "I'm so sorry."

For the first time Harry knew why it he had not wanted to believe that Draco was real. Because if he had accepted that Draco was real, that meant he'd have to accept that Ron was really a Death Eater. He had accepted it, and he had acted, and now he was in disbelief.

--

George was running. His mind was fixated on getting to Fred before Fred did something suicidal and stupid that would cause both their lives to be screwed up forever and then neither would be happy, only Fred would be dead and then George decided that he should probably stop rambling.

He ran across of the street, hearing a car that narrowly missed him skid to a halt on his heels and beep loudly. He flicked it off, not stopping for a second. He couldn't risk stopping; he wouldn't make it in time.

Fred was the most important thing to him and if he didn't make it—no, there wasn't an option. So he kept running. And then he saw the sun beginning to rise and he knew he was not going to make it.

"Shit!" he cried, picking up speed.

_George won't understand. I know he won't._

George almost sobbed, I would have!

_George wouldn't know that I still love him. That I always will. He'd think it was his fault._

I wouldn't, he thought. I don't!

_I miss him already, and I haven't even left. Fate is a bitch. And I am fortune's fool. But god, how did I get a tumor? We couldn't live through this. _

We could, thought George finally. And then he picked up speed, dodging cars and buses and people on the street. He was going to be late. And then his surroundings seemed to slow and screech to a stop. He looked around, frozen Muggles and confused wizards.

"Shit!" he cried again, realizing what had happened. In some of the larger battles of the past they would sometimes freeze time so the Muggles wouldn't notice anything had happened.

In a flash all the other wizards ran off, and George started up again towards the battlefield. He was swearing silently, and panting, taking in large gasps of air, trying to keep his legs moving, kept them pumping, kept running.

He felt like his lungs were on fire and his legs were made of leadand he couldn't move anymore, but he couldn't stop moving. He had to get there; he had to get to Fred. Fred, Fred, Fred, and only Fred.

He was so close and he was running but the sun had risen and he knew he would not get there in time. He had been in such a rush he hadn't noticed the letter addressed to him sitting on the counter of his room.

_Dearest George,_

_I wish I could tell you how much you mean to me, and I am currently praying you won't go into my journal to find out just how much. These years I have been your twin, the closest to you, and I have been living the only way I could imagine my life. I am so glad that you were always there for me, and I was there for you, and I'm sorry I had a tumor and that you had to deal with my fussing and that you had to see me like that and I realize I'm running on and on, but I just want you to know that I wish I could be there for you._

_Love you forever,_

_Fred_

**Deadly**

Harry Potter approached the field the way he approached a vial of poison, with caution and fear. He wasn't afraid of facing Voldemort; he had done it before, and it no longer scared him. He wasn't afraid of what he knew would be the outcome of the fighting, and he wasn't afraid for the Wizarding World. He was simply afraid of dying, because he knew he would.

Lucius Malfoy stood behind his lover, tapping his foot agitatedly. He had to wait for the sun to rise for the battle to begin, before he could play his foreordained role. He looked towards the East, awaiting its arrival, and he tried to avoid eye contact with Tom. He couldn't go through with it if he looked him in the eyes.

Draco Malfoy Apparated onto the battle field with a loud POP! Before collapsing on the bloody ground, spasming and twitching. He could feel his heart slow to a stop and then his body disappeared from him. He jumped up and looked at the shell that had held him, before running away. He didn't care if he was spirit or not, he would save Harry's life.

Tom Riddle was excited. The adrenaline coursing through his veins made him feel alive and real and exhilarated. He was happy, and he wanted to spend time with Lucius, but Lucius wasn't making eye contact with him. He couldn't let it bother him, though, because today was the day. Today was the day when the "chosen" bastard would finally die, and Tom was ecstatic.

Fred Weasley had a headache. A large, brain splitting headache of the pounding variety. He wished he hasn't partaken in the alcohol earlier. He sighed and looked around at his fellow fighters and across the field to the Death Eaters. Their planned raid had become an all out battle, and a fair one. Fred knew he would go out with a bang and that above all else made him smile slightly.

George Weasley ran up the hill, panting, and stopped at the top, wheezing and gasping for air. He had to get to Fred. He looked down the hill in horror. There below him had begun the battle. All ready the field was red and bodies were strewn all over. Then he caught sight of a fiery orange ponytail and ran onto the field screaming.

Harry was out of spells. He had no more tricks up his sleeves, in fact, he longer had his wand. He was basically dead meat. Then he heard a familiar curse issue from the Dark Lord's lips. "_Sectumsempra!_" It was as though an invisible sword had cut him, nearly in two. As he fell back, his hands twitched in the direction of the cut, trying to assess it by touch and keep him from losing blood. But it didn't really matter. He knew he was going to die anyway.

Lucius barely suppressed a cry as he saw Harry Potter fall backwards bleeding and dying. He remembered then what he had to do, and softly he called out to Tom, who turned when he heard Lucius's voice. Their eyes met and the stared at each other for the longest time, and then Lucius knew he would rather die.

If Draco could have, he would have thrown a fit, but he had not quite mastered being a spirit and quite often would go through something he was trying to move. When he saw Harry fall back, however, he knew he couldn't do anything. So he turned to his father and did the only thing he could think of. "Lucius bloody Malfoy! Do something!"

Tom turned when Lucius called him, once again wishing that he wasn't so infatuated with the other man. He should be watching Harry Potter bleed to death, but instead he was engaging in a staring contest on Lucius. But he was happy because Lucius was no longer ignoring him.

Fred turned his head to the side when he heard someone call him. There he saw George approaching him faster than he thought his twin could manage. Then he remembered he was in the middle of a duel and turned back to his opponent, who grinned cruelly and whispered a curse.

As George ran forward, it seemed to him that Fred was falling back in slow motion and he thought that if he got there before Fred fell, he could still save him. Fred hit the ground hard and George ran to him, sobbing on his brother's dead body. It wasn't fair!

Harry shuddered, blood spilling from between the fingers he tried to keep the blood in with. The air stung at his cuts and his eyes poured tears. Blood rose in his throat, causing him to gag. He wished he could have died the way his parents had, fast and painless. He shuddered again and tried to get his tired eyes to stay on Lucius.

Lucius tried to take his eyes off of Tom and Harry. He didn't want to do it! Then he heard Draco, his little boy, whisper "Daddy?" and then Lucius knew he had to do it, for Draco, because Draco deserved it. So he whispered, "_Avada Kedavera_."

Draco gave up on his father and hovered over Harry, though he had no way of helping him. He floated down and sat next to him, gently trying to stroke Harry's hair. "Shh," he whispered. "It's all gonna be fine." And he saw Harry smile, so he smiled back and wished that someday he could come back again for Harry, but both knew he could.

Tom stared at Lucius in horror as the beam of green light sped towards him. He was the chosen one? Tom was amazed how brave Lucius was, and he smiled at his lover, and then he beam hit. The green enveloped his heart and he fell backwards, as the beam stopped his chest from moving. He heard a sob and knew that Lucius would mourn him, just like last time. But this time he knew he would never again wake up.

George stroked his brother's long, fiery hair, and whispered for him to wake up. He wasn't too late, he couldn't be. He gave up and fell onto his brother's body, sobbing. "Fred!" he screamed and cried, but it was too late. Fred was dead, and George was not.

Harry's eyes fell closed, and then he felt the warmth of a spell wrap around him like a blanket, and then the pain was gone. He opened his eyes and stared at Lucius's tearing own ones. "Lucius, you . . . ?" Harry stopped and stood, looking down at a scar he didn't remember having, stretching from his cheek, down his chest and around his leg.

Lucius smiled. "I healed the cut, but it was too deep for me too heal without giving you a scar, hence the scar. I did a mirage spell, so everyone saw you fall, me distract Tom—Voldemort, and then they saw you attack him from the ground. Enjoy your glory, Harry. I'm moving to the U.S. where I can be alone." he Disapparated from the spot.

Draco smiled, as well, giggling a little. "The war is over Harry, and now I must leave you." Draco cringed as Harry asked him why. "Because I have used up my time in the world. I will see you, again, though. I love you, Harry," and then Draco faded into nothingness.

George limped over to Harry. "Fred's dead," he whispered softly and Harry embraced him. George had nothing left. His Fred was gone, his hope was gone. He had nothing. Christmas day no longer meant presents, it meant Fred. It meant mourning, and that Christmas, their favourite holiday, would no longer mean the happiness it always had.

**Envy**

Harry Potter had not seen George Weasley in years, but then a he had gotten a owl, asking Harry to come meet with him on Christmas eve, seemingly out of the blue. But here Harry was, in front of the designated restaurant. Then, a tall red head Apparated with a loud POP! Harry turned, smiling.

"George!" George turned, grinning, and embraced him.

"It's been years Harry! Your hair!" he reached out and grabbed a lock of Harry's chest length hair.

"Yours, too." Harry said, gesturing to George's long ponytail. George grinned and walked to the door.

"Shall we?" He asked, bowing.

Their reunion didn't last as long as either had hoped. Long before both thought was time, they had to leave for their respective homes, remembering that Harry did have work the next day.

As they parted, Harry turned and looked at George. "I envy you, George Weasley."

"Why?" he asked softly.

"You seem so free. Have a nice Christmas," he walked away, then, and as he got around a corner he took off, running to a church yard instead of his house. He kept running until he came to the grave he needed to see.

_Here lies Draco Malfoy,_

_Last of the Malfoy line._

_He will be sorely missed_

_R.I.P._

Harry only realized after he got home, that he had told George to have a nice Christmas, completely forgetting that tomorrow was the day that Fred died.

George still stood in the same place he had when Harry left him. Slowly he pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter and lit one up. "Don't worry, Fred," he whispered. "I'll be coming to join you soon." He looked around in disdain.

"Happy bloody Christmas, indeed."

_Fin._

**There's your Christmas angst. 22 pages in five school days. Woot.**


End file.
